Doing Lunch

by Doing Lunch Free(Lit)

"Mister Premier...”

  “Alexi, call me, Alexi.”

  “Okay, Alexi. Mikhail hadn’t sent anything back for years. Not since the KGB asked him to return. Before that, the last thing he sent us was the troop movements of ROTC members on the UCLA campus. We now know that seven graduated in nineteen ninety-two.”

  “Why didn’t he come back?”

  “Alexi, he said he could never live in Russia the way he was living in America.”

  “My nephew was right.” Alexi rose and Volitov began to do the same. “No sit, relax.” Alexi continued to the small refrigerator and removed a bottle of vodka and some small shot glasses. Seeing the look in his aide’s eyes, he knew that the cold drink would receive a warm reception. He filled the glasses and handed one to Volitov who took a sip quickly. Alexi took a sip, but it was slow, almost drawn out as if waiting for something to happen.

  “You have worked for the KGB, no?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did you do for them?”

  “A little of this, a little of that.”

  “The KGB did a little of this and a little of that. What was a little of this and a little of that?”

  Volitov looked at Alexi as if to say, “What are you looking for? What do you want from me?” but his common sense and instincts told him that he couldn’t.

  “Psychological profiles.”

  “What kind of psychological profile do you have of me, Volitov?”

  The young man was now certain that Alexi sensed that more was going on than he let those around him to believe. Volitov’s mind started to ask some questions of his own inside his mind: What was he looking for? What was it that he thinks I know?

  “Well Volitov, what kind of person do you think I am?”

  “A very subtle intellectual.”

  “Brilliant deduction. Considering the fact that I am a professor at the university and am a midget compared to most, a man that weighs maybe a hundred and fifty pounds, do I have any choice but to be subtle, to be a discreet individual?”

  Having his answer mocked, Volitov knew that Alexi was not buying into his answer but he had to stick with it nonetheless. He most certainly could not tell him why he was there. Volitov looked at his watch, then quickly looked his superior in the eye, “I must go, Alexi, I have something to take care of.”

  “Go, go. And Volitov, anytime I am not here, you can help yourself to some vodka.”

  “Thank you, Alexi, thank you.” Smiling, Volitov exited as he was about to embark into the cold and darkness of a February Moscow night. Alexi, knowing that he made some progress in his relationship with Volitov, knowing that he had him sized up just right, sat back in his cushy office chair to finish the few remaining swallows of his cold vodka.

  Having lived in the premier’s home now for several weeks, Alexi did not feel comfortable in the large house when they first moved there. He thought it too opulent; this was a conflict with the plight of the people, a cause he was committed to changing for the better. However, since his return from America two days ago, it all seemed right. He knew there had to be something wrong with him but he did not want to try to search for an answer to the problem now, he needed his sleep because of the jet lag.

  The luxury sedan stopped in front and the chauffeur couldn’t get to Alexi’s door fast enough.

  “Thank you, Varnez.”

  “It is my duty, sir.” The stilted style of Varnez was tough on Alexi; it conflicted with his mellow, easygoing personality. He did not want to even try to change it since Varnez stood seven feet, two inches tall and had played on the nineteen ninety-two Soviet Olympic basketball team. He certainly did not want to be a slam-dunk.

  Sauntering to the front door, he opened it and almost fell back on his heels by the unexpected. There in the living room was Orlina with several of the professor’s wives from the old neighborhood doing aerobics to the instructions of an instructor. Looking around to try to discover where this instructor was, Alexi’s eyes quickly located the CD player.

  Looking around at all of the women with their arms and legs flailing about in their loose shorts and tops, the premier knew these women could use a good dose of exercise, but so close to dinner? He wanted to laugh but he knew he could not, at least not out loud. Alexi started to think that with all the shortages that Russia had, where did all these people find the calories to work off?

  The premier immediately recognized every one of the four women. There was Petrina Sherdostov whose husband taught tundra agriculture. It was an industry that had been considered nascent for the last thirty years. Next to her kicking up a storm was Berina Bergdorf whose husband taught physics and was a man preoccupied with the black hole. Alexi knew that if Petri Bergdorf ever went to Los Angeles, his preoccupation would change from the black hole to how the hell do those houses stand up on those stilts on the hillsides?

  The third woman, Nadina Sharansky, was married to a man who taught infectious diseases at the University. World renowned for his knowledge, he had often been invited to guest lecture at various world conferences. His fear of catching what he taught kept him in Russia where he felt a familiarity with the environment. The last woman that was part of Orlina’s small clique of exercisers was Tannis Subarto, a woman of Malaysian ancestry whose husband taught remedial English at Moscow University. Alexi remembered the last time that the two men talked and Lenosto Subarto had told him that most of his remedial English class were made up of American exchange students, he was floored by the revelation. Alexi was certain that they could have gotten classes closer to home.

  “Orlina!” The first lady of Russia continued to kick out her legs in sync with the instructions not wanting to lose one quarter of an once less then anyone else.

  “Are we going to have dinner, Orlina?”

  “Yes.”

  “When?”

  “Soon.”

  The instructions stopped coming and the voice told everyone to take a short breather. Alexi was glad to hear that because he needed one. This screaming over the voice of the exercise instructor was causing him to lose his voice and that was not good for someone who was going to address the politburo tomorrow.

  “What are we having?”

  “Salad.”

  “Salad? Where did you get the produce?”

  “Allison gave me idea. When I tell her how I got the extra eggs and milk and butter with those beautiful shirts and scarves, she just told me that I could do the same for produce. She was right. Sergotoff’s wife owes us two heads of lettuce next week. She has already given us three.”

  “You’re trading with the Foreign Minister’s wife?”

  “Yes, Alexi, is it not wonderful? I am even trading with the trade minister’s wife, Riaga.”

  “We’re getting lettuce from her too?”

  “No, Alexi darling, we could only eat so much lettuce,” came the soft sweet tone of Orlina, who kissed Alexi to reveal her affections for him. “Cucumber is what we will get, my sweet man. I know that it is something you like.”

  “Cucumbers!”

  “Yes, my sweetheart. I am getting you radishes too. Radishes, Alexi, something you have always loved.” Just the sound of the word made Alexi wet his lips and recall a seminar in Vienna two years ago where he enjoyed an endless stream of radishes at every meal for the entire three days he was there.

  “How did you find out that you could trade with these people?”

  “From Beadria.”

  “Beadria Medansky, the wife of the head of the KGB?” Orlina merely answered with a smile, proud of her conquest.

  “I wonder what other secrets are out in the open over at Medansky’s? Maybe I ought to ask her about Chernobyl, she might be able to tell me how many people really died.”

  Any ideas that Alexi had floating around in his head went by the wayside when the boys entered singing their favorite tune, the one they brought back to Russia from Disneyland. Alexi was not sure if the name of the first born of his oldest son, Mitchev, was going to be Mickey or Mouse.
Suddenly the voice of the instructor rang across the room asking everyone to get ready to continue their workout.

  “What about dinner?”

  “I will cook it, Alexi, when I am less than I am now.” Shaking his head in disgruntlement, he was beginning to feel alienated. Before the trip to America, Orlina always had dinner waiting, but now in the last few days since their return she had been taken with this exercise regiment. She was spreading it like a disease. Oh well, it was only a salad she was planning so he did not need to have it cooked; it was something he could do himself.

  Walking into the kitchen, he started to think that Orlina made it easy for him to release the servants that the government provided him with the house. In the few days they had been back the only things they had eaten was salad and Orlina liked cleaning the house claiming that it was a form of exercise. It was a relieving thought to know that your wife was personally going to take charge of getting the house in order in preparation for the arrival of the Queen of England.

  Entering the kitchen, the new premier started to chuckle to himself as his eyes scanned the kitchen. As he walked over to the refrigerator he thought about how outrageous the situation was considering the enormous size of the kitchen and that they were now just eating salads. The singing of the Disneyland national anthem quickly interrupted his thoughts by his two sons. Like the boy’s favorite ride at the theme park, this was indeed a small world.

  The sun had barely been above the horizon for two hours when Alexi arrived at his office. He had spent the entire evening laying awake in bed thinking about all the things he had to do today, including his practice putting, which he now justified as a relief from the heavy burden of the pressures of changing Russia’s economic structure. Removing his heavy overcoat, he moved toward the window to look out since apparently the janitor had left the drapes open after cleaning. The premier noticed that the bread lines were beginning to form and his knowledge of history drew his mind to the French Revolution. With people having to rise with the crack of dawn and wait in the bitter cold the symptoms told Alexi that this could not go on very long. He did not want something such as a revolution happening.

  When he turned around and looked up he saw Volitov standing in the doorway, and realized just how much power he had as premier. Every morning when he entered Volitov would give him a few moments to settle in and then enter to ask if he needed anything.

  “Another cold morning, premier.”

  “It’s Alexi, remember?”

  Volitov smiled at the reminder, his days at the KGB still dominating his conduct. He had always worried about being insubordinate. He had heard about Siberia and always avoided making any ski plans for that area.

  “Some coffee, Alexi?”

  “Yes.”

  Off in the corner of Alexi’s office was a small mobile cart with a coffee maker on it along with cups and an exquisite hand crafted sugar bowl that was part of a present he was given by Sergotoff when he took office. The sugar was the gift, not the bowl. Volitov replaced the cart and began putting everything together. He then exited the office with the empty carafe in hand and after a few minutes returned with the carafe filled with water, Ural Mountain Spring water. He continued to prepare the coffee maker.

  “Volitov, do you feel for the people?”

  Turning to face Alexi, the curious expression on his aide’s face did not surprise the Russian leader. “Yes, they are my people. Why do you ask?”

  “I want to help them. I want them to live better than this, better than they lived under communism.” The sincerity of Alexi’s tone left a mark on Volitov, giving him an insight into what he was made of, what his character was all about personality wise.

  “Volitov, set up a meeting with Medansky.”

  “Can I tell him what it is about?”

  “That is something that will be between him and I. Have him come here as soon as possible.”

  While Alexi’s tone of voice was always soft, the words he chose this time made Volitov understand that it was something important. Could there be a crisis in the new government after just a few weeks? Without saying a word, Volitov turned and walked out.

  Good, alone at last, thought Alexi. While he may have a national problem, there was nothing he could do about it until he spoke with Medansky. It was as good a time as any to practice his putting. He always kept the words of Mikhail in the front of his mind, “putt to relieve the stress.” Thinking about his present position of power, it brought to mind the number of American presidents that played the game. Maybe Mikhail was right. Of course Lyndon Johnson and Richard Nixon did not play the game, but maybe they did not get stress, maybe they just caused it?

  Into the closet went Alexi, who had the putter machine set up, and the putter and orange balls in hand before one could say Leonoid Brezhnev. Lining up a ten-foot putt on the green carpet he had installed upon his return from America, Alexi tried to muster all the concentration he could. His mind kept thinking that this was for the Masters. Just as the premier drew the putter back, Volitov entered.

  “Sir!” Alexi’s putt went about eighteen inches wide to the right.

  “Oh no! And I already had that green jacket fitted.” The premier’s statement perplexed Volitov who had absolutely no idea what Alexi meant.

  “Medansky is in the building. He is with the Minister of Transportation complaining about the length of his limousine. He’ll be right up.”

  Now it was Alexi who was perplexed. For the life of him, what was wrong with the size of the stretch limousine that the government provided Medansky? Did Medansky have his people measure it and find out that it was short by two or three inches? What was the problem? The sound of the door opening in the outer office drew the attention of the two men.

  “Keep him out there a few minutes, Volitov, I need to make at least one ten footer.”

  Smiling, Volitov almost seemed to be able to read his boss’s mind. “Yes sir, I know that feeling of immediate gratification.” Alexi was pleased that his aide understood and would take care of everything. Before Volitov could even close the door, Alexi was standing over his next attempt. Staring the ball down, Alexi moved behind the ball and bent down behind it checking the line from that angle. Again rising to his feet, Alexi again stood over his ball, the intense concentration causing some pain on the bridge of his nose, making him wonder if he could really play eighteen holes of this game one more time.

  “What is he doing in there? What did he call me here for, I have important things to do,” ranted Medansky, his protruding midsection leading his pacing around Volitov’s office.

  “More important than talking to the premier?” asked Volitov.

  The stern glance that Alexi’s aide received from the KGB’s head honcho was meant to intimidate. The moment that Medansky sensed he had Volitov’s complete attention he issued his reminder.

  “I am the one that put you here. There were other spots I could have sent you.” The hard swallow of Volitov did not go unnoticed by Medansky. Having accomplished his goal, Medansky smiled caustically at the man who once worked for him. His ruddy complexion with its capillaries filling his face created a sense of power when accented by the light blue eyes that almost lit up when Medansky became incensed. Volitov, in thinking about what he had said, realized he had created the ire.

  “Where is he, what is keeping him?” Volitov looked at his boss, his real boss, not quite certain what he was supposed to do. Before he could do anything, Medansky stormed into Alexi’s office. There he found the leader of Russia shanking another putt, this time to the left.

  “Don’t you have any golf etiquette? You’re supposed to yell fore.” The light blue eyes that just moments before appeared to light up a room now had the most doleful look to them. Medansky, never having seen Alexi mad, was in much the same situation that Volitov had been just moments before. He did not know what he was supposed to do in this situation.

  “I...I...” The stuttering of the man who was feared throughout the Kremlin gave
Alexi a new insight into human conduct, including what he could now do with his new authority. He had heard himself raising his voice just because he missed a practice putt of ten feet. What the hell would he have sounded like if he made a hole in one?

  “Close the door, we must talk.” Medansky closed the door while Alexi went to his refrigerator.

  “A drink?” The smile on the face of his guest was all the answer that Alexi needed. He removed the Absolut and two double-shot glasses. He poured a double shot glass full and handed it to Medansky, who was now almost right on top of him in anticipation. This proximity of the heavy-set man wanting for a drink made Alexi feel like a Saint Bernard. Medansky swallowed it faster than the Niagara Falls flowed downward. Hell, Alexi thought, if Medansky kept drinking like this, he was going to have to get another bottle soon, real soon. Alexi poured his guest another double before pouring himself one as well.

  “To Russia,” toasted Alexi, wanting to develop some camaraderie with the chief of the KGB. When the man smiled, Alexi was not quite sure if it was because there was a bonding or whether the man just wanted to get back to his drink. The way Medansky downed the second one Alexi had his perceptions confirmed.

  Knowing that there was some serious business to discuss, the premier chose to return the bottle to the refrigerator. While the smile on Medansky’s face disappeared, at least Alexi felt confident that he would hear what he was about to say. Sitting down behind his desk, the action had Medansky finding a seat as well to maintain the same eye level. It was something he had always demanded as head of the intelligence organization, eye contact.

  “There is something I need done.”

  “Of course you know that if it is something I can do, it will be done.”

  “Yes, that is why I summoned you. I need someone kidnapped and brought here.”

  “Where is this person and I will have them in front of you tomorrow.”

  “I really doubt that, Medansky.” The intelligence officer felt insulted but was disciplined enough to hide his feelings. He never had his abilities questioned before and he did not like it.